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A Statement
The loud, muffled sound of incoherent yelling is the first warning of anything out of the ordinary approaching the security cells. Just into the next layer, a baritone voice rises nearly to tenor in some generic protestation. Only a few words can be made out clearly through the security doors. Rights. Speech. Journalism. The chaotic protestations seem that much louder and vehement in comparison to the brief window of silence that follows it. Then the outer door opens. The second warning, only a heartbeat before the man presents himself, is the smell. For most it is not an offensive odor, but to be detected at this distance, it surely must be strong. It is the sweet, spicy wafting of an older, Corellian cologne, buoyed deeper into the prison area by the movement of the door. Finally, with three tiny camera droids bobbing about his head and flashing lights, like fairies from a childhood tale, the once famous Loy Marin steps into sight. A broad yet oily smile is spread across his lips. His eyes are cold and sharp and mirthless. He says in a strong voice, "Now where are the fighting board members I've heard so much about?" The two guards that trail in have had quite a bit more to do than usual today, and they look rather harried as they follow the speaker, utterly defeated by his eloquent outburst, whatever it was. One of them mumbles "Visitors," and hurriedly retreats to the front of the security office, leaving the other to glare after him sullenly, crossing his arms as he lets out a ragged sigh, standing by the door to keep watch over the prisoners and their caller. There are currently two beings that inhabit the detention cells. One is a human male, dressed in slightly rumpled but still elegant clothes. He sits calmly on the corner of the bench in his cell, one ankle crossed over the other knee in a relaxed posture. The other is Toydarian who's dead to the world. Judging by his raucous snores, he's been so a good while, and the fact that the loud entrance does nothing to rouse him seems to say that he's got a ways to go before he awakens. The human male looks up as the doors to the cell block open, and he sniffs the air, one tiny furrow appearing in his brow as he catches a whiff of the scent. He rises, moving toward the bars that stand between him and freedom, and as his eyes settle on the other man, he blinks, a look of recognition crossing his face. "Loy Marin?" he says, a note of disbelief in his voice. "Word of my misdeeds travels quickly, I see." Striding with all the pomp and arrogance of a general before his troops, the dapper reporter moves to stand in front of the first two cells. He looks in at the sleeping Toydarian, his brow doing its best to move into a frown. The expression is ruined by his inability to create wrinkles on his forehead, thanks to the marvels of modern cosmetic medicine. "Leave the alien out of the shots," Loy says briskly to his camera droids. They pivot and whorl through the air, taking positions away from the Toydarian's cell as Loy continues, "Humans tend to get more sympathy in these shots." He studies the rumpled businessman a moment, then nods his head. A red light illuminates on one of the flying cameras, and Loy turns to it, smiles, and says, "Interview of the CSA brawler, take one. And... go!" Smitherbodkins' gaze moves from the man in front of him, to the camera droids, to the guard who stands at the door. He catches the guard's eye and his eyebrows raise, head tilting slightly toward Loy and his entourage. The guard gives the smallest shrug imaginable, as if he can barely muster up the will to do even that, and turns away, leaving the gentlemen in the cell to fend for himself. Sighing, Smitherbodkins returns his attention to his immediate problem (well, other than his current location), but does not say anything, looking at Loy expectantly, still obviously somewhat shocked to see him here. "This is Loy Marin, taking you live and on the scene," Loy says to the red-lit camera. "We're here to get to the bottom of the current rumors, alleging that actual, physical hostilities are taking place at the highest levels of the CSA. Are your credits in jeopardy? Is this the beginnings of some sort of coup?" Just when it seems that the reporter is only using the businessman and his cell as a backdrop, Loy turns finally to face the subject of his story. He says, his voice still pitched towards performance, "Can you tell us, sir, for the record, your name, and why you hate the current system of government in the CSA, as well as what's wrong with our economic system?" The events of the day have not exactly prepared Smitherbodkins to deal with the reporter in his usual adept way. No, it's all he can do to stand there agog, blinking in the light of the camera. If he were a bit more uncouth, his chin might be found somewhere near the vicinity of the floor, but he manages to retain some vestige of his dignity and spare himself the embarrassment of appearing as a slack-jawed idiot on the IGNews. He takes a deep breath, followed by another, and this seems to settle him enough to at least present a somewhat normal facade. "I believe you can get my name from the security logs," Smitherbodkins replies, a smile forming on his lips that doesn't quite manage to make it all the way to his eyes. "As for your other questions, I have to admit that I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." With his back to the cameras, a furious light enters Loy's eyes. He makes a slicing motion at throat level, and the red light is extinguished on the camera droid. Loy gestures with his right hand and says over his shoulder, "Get some area shots while I reset the scene. Twobee, keep a tight-shot on the guard." As the droids move off to comply, whirring and clicking to each other like satisfied birds, Loy says to the businessman with a voice no longer performing, but now heavy with strained patience, "I don't think either of us is going to be happy with that take. We need to make this snap and pop. Now. What is your angle? Maybe if you tell me why you're here, I can find an angle to work with you?" "Angle?" Smitherbodkins regards the reporter, arms crossing in front of him as he raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "I'm sorry to say that this may have been a waste of your time. He," and here he gestures vaguely to the sleeping Toydarian, his nose wrinkling in distaste, "insulted my honor. I lost my head. Nothing more than that." He shrugs, "You know how those board meetings can be. Tempers run high. CEOs wish to protect their holdings. Things get out of hand." Funny, because the last Direx board meeting was several days prior to the arrest of the pair, but Smitherbodkins doesn't seem to think that there's anything amiss with his explanation. "However, you could try to awaken my compatriot over there, and see if he has something to add." A light chuckle escapes him at this, for the Toydarian's snores have, if anything, managed to grow louder while this has been going on. Loy's lips take on a particularly dissatisfied twist as he turns and regards the snoring alien. His eyes linger on the strange blue creature longer than they need to as Loy's brain cycles and churns, considering possibilities and discarding them quickly. He shakes his head again as he turns his attention fully back to Smitherbodkins. "No," Loy says simply. "I don't think it'll work well. While I don't have anything against non-humans, studies have shown that the typical IGNews viewer is over sixty percent biased. "But let's cut to the meat of this," Loy continues, shifting his stance and talking with his hands. "No one makes it to the Direx board without some sort of game plan. And if that game plan doesn't involve the media, then they don't make it to the board. Well, I'm the media, and I can be your best friend. Are you sure you don't have anything to say to me?" Loy's last words give Smitherbodkins pause, and he considers them carefully, one hand reaching up to rub his chin. His lips purse as he wrestles with some decision or other, though what it is is known only to him. His gaze flicks once more to the sleeping Toydarian, and this seems to bring to his final decision, for he begins to speak once more as he turns back to Loy. "Very well. I do have something to say to you." And here Smitherbodkins' smile completely vanishes, and his features look as if they could have been cut from Kubindi marble, "I have personally witnessed the newly elected Prex of the CSA to be incompetent, as well as unstable. His actions in a mere week after his election have not only been profligate, but have actively endangered the credits of shareholders in CSA corporations. I plan to convene an emergency meeting of the Direx board and call for a vote of no confidence, and then I shall move to remove Amalgamated Waste Corporations as a CSA company." Like a lion tossed a piece of fat, juicy meat, Loy virtually beams with satisfaction. He rubs his hands together, and his eyes unfocus from Smitherbodkins as he considers possibilities. He could smell money. He could smell renewed fame. Licking his lips, he asks, "Exactly how much of that do you want on record with your name attached to it? And are there any examples or proof that you can offer up that a typical IGNews viewer would believe, or take notice of?" "You may put me entirely on record here, Mr. Marin." It seems as if Smitherbodkins has turned a corner, and now he's out for blood. His hands curl around the bars of his cell, his knuckles white against them as his fists clench tight, though his voice remains calm, if icy. "My name is Lord Geophreigh Smitherbodkins IV, CEO of Bodkins Antiquities, one of the oldest companies on the CSA board. And if you wish for proof, why, simply visit the Direx board room and record it all for posterity. Please." Loy gives one of his droids a side-long glance and smiles a sinister smile. He performs some complicated hand gesture, and all three droids flutter back to hovering just around his head. They leave no room for the dual sides of conscience that would play at each of Loy's shoulder. One glance at Loy's face, at that moment, leaves little doubt as to the depth of Loy's depravity. "I think that, with this story and my help, you may one day find yourself at the head of the board," Loy says leaning forward, and with his voice pitched very low. "When that day arrives, I hope that you'll remember your friends, and the ones that helped you when you were in... this dire predicament." The smile that tugs the corners of Smitherbodkins' mouth upward at Loy's last words is nothing like the smile he usually wears. His hands tighten on the bars for a moment, almost as if he's trying to force his way through; but then, just as quickly, he releases them, and takes a step backward into his cell. This movement throws his face half into shadow, and the strange combination of the darkened part of him juxtaposed with the portion that's only vaguely illuminated by the rather dim light that permeates the security center gives him an almost ghoulish appearence. "Believe me, Mr. Marin...I will."